Gracias, Antonio
by Patch-of-Grey
Summary: Antonio Loves his daughter. He raised Santo Domingo wit a lot of love... until Britain became her friend and helped her become Dominican Republic. She learns how to love, how to hate, and how to kick major butt as she becomes Allies with the newly formed country of America, and supporting him as he moves up in life. Spain, OC's US, UK.
1. Butterflies

**Gracias, Antonio. _**

_Las Mariposas-Les Papillons_

_A man stood before his crew, looking at his old discovery. His brown hair was wet and still dripping of sea water. And what was this that landed on? Land. This land was not new to him. A lover that he had left here and that France had met as well. That was it. A lover he had left for a few years to find out later she had given birth to his and France's children and left them as she flew into the sky. _

_She was sitting in the grass. Her skin was sun-kissed and her eyes matched her curly brown tresses, like her mother. It was a warm day and she was sitting with her sister, a darker toned girl with short black _wavy _hair, like her father's, and light _hazel_ eyes, watching the butterflies flutter around their heads. They had no words to speak-they didn't know any. They spent all their time sitting in that spot. They were created there. This small island with fruit trees and beaches, surrounded by the sea. It was all they needed. _

_Spotting the two toddlers, the man slowly walked up to them, leaving his men to search the island. He wore red and yellow, his hat hosting a big white feather. Oh how he shined in the sunlight! All of the gold and jewels he wore were nothing the girls have ever seen young man had to try and get the girls attention without scaring them away...A butterfly fluttered toward him, landing on his nose. Easy enough, the two girls watched as that butterfly rested itself onto the nose of that strange man. Crouching down slowly to the girls' level ,he waited for them to approach. And so the young girls did. They awed at the colorful butterfly rested on the man's nose. Soon enough, the butterfly fluttered away into sky. Looking up at the stranger, the girls pulled on his red jacket and played with his white feather. The man smiled. He took off his hat and placed it on the brunette's head, watching her face light up. He then placed his jacket around the other, watching her face become curious as the heavy fabric brushed against her. The young stranger watched as the two toddlers observed each other, neither of them forming words, just little squeaks and giggles. They soon quieted down once the man stood and began to walk away. But then he heard little footsteps and stopped. The two girls were so curious of this new comer, they didn't want him to leave. Holding out his hands to them, he smiled as the words slipped past his tongue;_

_La Española...Mis hijas..(my children)_

Santo Domingo woke up to the snoring of her father. She turned on her side and there he was, fast asleep with drool flowing down the corner of his mouth. About seven years old (in human years), she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, her curly brown hair in a messy bun at the top of her head. The young girl sat looking at her hands. It was the third time she has had that dream this month. No it wasn't a dream, it was a memory. It was all she could remember from her child hood. Her sister was on the other side of the island, with her father's friend. He is called France. A country that lives next to Spain. Her younger half sister was given the name Saint Domingue by this blonde man. It sounded like her name, only it had a French twist to it. The sun began to raise over the trees and Santo Domingo laid back down. Spain should be getting up soon to make her breakfast and wake her.

* * *

"Buenos días, mi hija...está bien tiempo. (Good morning my daughter, the temperature is nice)" Spain said softly, shaking the smaller country.

"Noooo~ yo no quiero...(i don't want to)" the Spanish speaking country moaned.

"Ay, mi chica, raise and shine! Breakfast is ready. Go wash up before it's all gone!" Antonio said giving her one last shake before leaving the room.

The young nation sat up and rubbed her eyes. She wasn't much of a morning person. Every morning Spain woke her up and cooked her breakfast before getting her ready for her lessons. As the population of her part of the island grew, Spain was trying to teach and handle things back home at the same time. Sitting at the table, dressed in her white and blue gown, her hair done by one of the maids, she ate with Antonio in silence. The morning fruit was fresh from the trees and bushes and the garden outside was filled with workers. Antonio watched as his young daughter ate. She loved the meat and the grains with beans. She also liked how he fried the eggs in the pan with oil instead of butter. With her belly full, she drank her water and took her plate to the counter. Santo Domingo waited for Spain as he washed their plates.

"Alright. Ja! Vamos mi hija (Let's go my daughter)!" the Spanish country said leading the girl to a big room in the back of the house.

Today's lesson was about Europe. Again. Santo Domingo sighed as she listened to her father's lectures. It got boring after a bit. Learning about Europe...what about the rest of the world? There had to be more to it then just Europe... He soon got into grammar in Spanish and spelling, for she cannot spell very well. Another long and tedious subject she hated. Only half listening, Santo Domingo looked out the window and watched as Spain's men walked around carrying crates of who knows what. It's been a few years since Spain had settled on her and her sister's land. Then, soon after one of Antonio's Friends, France, came over and said he was her sister's father. He gave her the name "Saint Domingue". While Santo Domingo was learning Spanish, Saint Domingue was trying to learn French. But it didn't sound quite the same. The two girls saw each other often. But their lifestyles were totally different. Spain taught her about religion, government, and, of course, music. A lot of times she would go out on the island to the gardens, where Spain would he planting and doing most of the work himself.

"...and so the church was built. Are you listening, mi vida?" Antonio asked placing a book infront of her.

"¿Qué? Oh, sí sí..."(what? Oh, yes yes) Santo Domingo yawned and looked down at the book.

"Ay...of course not..." Spain sighed and pointed to the book.

"This book will be your guide to speaking French, mi hija."

Santo Domingo looked at him curiously.

"¿Por qué?"( why?)

"Porque (because) we are going to see France and Saint Domingue en la tardé (in the afternoon), so read it." Spain said.

Santo Domingo tsked. She nodded and opened the book. When spoken, French can be slightly understood by a Spanish speaker. Also when spoken, Italian can be understood by a Spanish speaker. They're all romance languages, so if u know one you kind of know another. The only thing that pissed her off was the French alphabet. So many silent letters...

"Wait. Pero (but) Saint Domingue doesn't speak French like France does." She looked up from the book.

Spain thought for a moment...that was true. But they are similar. So it won't be to confusing...

Lunchtime came and Antonio had his daughter dressed in one of her white sun dresses. He fixed her hair so it was in two perfect ponytails with her messy curls bouncing around. Smoothing down her bangs so they rested to the left side, he looked in the mirror and smiled before changing himself. They walked along the beaches with a basket until they reached the French camp. As they walked a group of butterflies past them and Santo Domingo pointed them out. They notice activity everywhere, farming, building, and such. There were workers everywhere. But not just workers...slaves. They were lead to the Frenchman's hut and let in.

"Ah! Welcome to my home, mes Amis (my friends). Ze food is ready!" The blonde country announced leading them to the dining room.

Santo Domingo sat next to her younger sister who smiled and waved. She wore a blue sundress with her black wavy hair in a low short ponytail with a red ribbon.

"Hola, mi hermana. ¿Cómo estás?"

" Hello, sè m '. Mwen te byen. Manje a ke Papa fè se reyèlman bon. (Hello, my sister. I've been well. The food that papa makes is really good)." Saint Domingue replied.

The young brunette looked at her father in confusion. France smiled.

"She speaks what I call, Creole. Iz a'most like French only in a difwerent way." He told Antonio.

"Ah~ yo veo. (I see)" Spain replied.

The food came and they ate comfortably. Whenever either of the girls spoke, one of their father's would translate. It was as if they weren't sisters at all. They only understood a little bit of what the other was trying to say.

"Let us go to the beach, oui?" France suggested when they finished eating.

The four of them walked along the shore. Spain pulled out a ball from the basket and kicked it to Santo Domingo. The two men watched as the girls kicked the ball to each other.

"It haz been a long while since we 'ave been home, oui?" Francis said suddenly.

Antonio nodded. It was true. It was only a matter of time before they had to return to the homeland.

"Sí...but I worry about them. Señor England isn't too far from here. He is with America right now...Especially with Hispaniola gone."

France tsked. That damn pirate is everywhere. This was the only land he owned that England didn't try to take from him.

"Ah!"

The young men turned to the girls. Their ball had fallen into the water. Saint Domingue was about to jump after it but France called to her.

"Tamarah! Wait! I'll get it!" France said as he ran over to to grab Saint Domingue.

Santo Domingo stood there confused. Tamarah? Who is Tamarah? France retrieved the ball and handed it to his daughter.

" Si cela arrive à nouveau appelez-moi ou l'Espagne. Je ne veux pas vous mouiller, Tamarah ( If that happens again just call me or Spain. I don't want you getting wet, Tamarah).

"Wi, papa (yes papa..)" Saint Domingue replied taking the ball from him.

France winked at Santo Domingo before returning to his spot with Spain. Antonio questioned his choice of names.

"Ah, oui. I have named her Tamarah. Beautiful, oui?"

"So...you gave her a birth name?" Antonio asked.

"But of course! I want her to feel uniques! Tamarah Papillion Bote...she loves les papillions so I made it her middle name. (Tamara butterfly [French] Beauty [Haitian Creole]) " Francis flipped his golden locks.

Spain looked at Santo Domingo. That's all he ever called her. It never crossed his mind to give her a birth name.

"I...need a name for her..." The Spaniard said.

"What? You didn't give her a name? Your own daughter?"

"No...she never asked for one."

Francis sighed. The day went on and it was time to leave. Santo Domingo waved happily to her sister as they walked their different ways.

"Did you 'ave a nice time, Tamarah?"

"Wi...but what is her name?" The little girl asked.

Francis shrugged. He told her to ask next time.

Spain held Santo Domingo's hand and stayed silent as his daughter told him about Tamarah. The man was too much in thought to listen. A name. He needed a name for her. A nice name that was unique and easy to remember.

"Ay, look, España! La Luna (The moon)" the little brunette hopped up and down pointing at the glowing orb in the sky.

Antonio looked up at the sky. It was her favorite time of day. Nighttime calmed her down he knew. She loved to listen to the noises outside. Also, she loved when he would bring her roses... She loved to smell the roses and touch their velvet petals...

"Spain. ¿Cómo me llama?" (What is my name?)" She asked suddenly.

"¿Te llamas?( Your name?) Uhm..." Spain looked at her, then the moon.

"Te llamas es...Raquel Altagracia de la Rosa. (Rachel/Raquel of high grace of the Rose)" Antonio said.

Santo Domingo looked at him. It was a long name but she liked it.

"Me nombre es Raquel Altagracia de la Rosa~(my name is...) " she squealed happily multiple times.

This was when he saw what France ment. He had given her a special gift. One that no one can take from her. A gift she can make her own and love. Her name gave her life and made her not just a piece of land he found, but an individual like himself and the others. Her curls bouncing behind her, Raquel sang her new name as she skipped down to their hut. As she sang, Spain saw a small butterfly cross his path. It looked like the same one that had landed on him when he first arrived back here. These butterflies are what gave these girls a sense of grace and beauty. A way of living with others without conflict.

Or at least until he leaves.

_Las Mariposas-Les_ _Papillons_


	2. Revolution

Gracias,Antonio

Révolution

France was awoken from his sleep to a loud crash. Jumping out of bed, he looked out the window. He saw the slaves attacking his French settlers all around. Still recovering from what happened back at home to his king a few years back, he limped over to his dresser and quickly put on his gear. The bandages around his chest and arms were tightened. Grabbing his sword, he ran down the hall to Saint Domingue's room. Instead of knocking, he kicked in the door to find his little sister out of bed, her sword and gun gone from their cases. In panic, he ran out side, some of his men following him. The scene before him made him gasp. In front of him, his men were beaten to the ground. Trying to get passed the attacking slaves, he made it his mission to find Tamarah and make sure the slaves didn't find her.

Soon coming upon the path to Tamarah and Raquel's birth place, he spotted a figure in the dark, a flag raised in the background. He took a step forward, his sword ready.

"'ho ahr you? W'ere iz my Tamarah?" Francis yelled. Hazel eyes glowed in the dark. It took a few steps forward. France slowly raised his sword, ready to attack. His blue eyes squinted in the dark trying to make out a face. The figure stood in place, its hazel eyes drilling into the Frenchman's blue ones.

Anger. Hurt. Vengeance. Those eyes flashed multiple negetive emotions. The figure drew its sword and began to walk towards the blonde in a quick, graceful motion. France matched its pace and began to circle the perimeter of the grassy area that was enclosed by large trees. Not taking his eyes off of the figure, Francis began to yell for Tamarah, thinking this figure had held her captive. The figure giggled. Wait... Giggled? France stepped closer to the figure.

"Papa Lafrans (Papa France...)"  
Francis lowered his sword as he heard the voice of his younger nation. The figure moved into the middle of the large area, where the moon's light peaked through the trees. France became wide eyed, dropping to his knees. His chest became hot and began to tingle as he looked at the figure. Her hazel eyes piercing his heart, his mind, his body. His own creation of a nation, turned against him, and ready to kill him.

With a new flag presented behind her, Saint Domingue's face became dark as she stood before him, now age thirteen in human years. Dressed in a tan military uniform, she gritted her teeth at him.

"Why? Why, Tamarah? 'ave I not been de fatehr you wanted?" France yelled tears falling down his face. Saint Domingue took out a French flag from her back pocket. She held it up to the new flag standing behind her.

"Do you like it,Papa, Lafrans? We used your flag to make it." The hazel orbed teen asked bitterly.  
" Que faisez-vous mon cher?(what are you doing, my dear)" Francis roared.  
Taking her sword, she threw the French flag in the air and slashed it twice. As the fabric fluttered in from of the blonde, he noticed that the white stripe was cut out.

"I have always waited for the perfect day; one chance to fix you Europeans up. Oh, the pain you caused me, papa Lafrans... " Tamarah paced around the Frenchman nonchalantly with a small smile on her lips.  
France couldn't stand. The feeling in his legs left him. Is this how it was suppose to end? He wanted to become the greatest nation in the world. He had conquered the majority of Europe...but the one thing he actually cared for...the only thing he had a chance to make his forever...gone out of his grasp in a blink. The only thing that he can call his, standing before him, was ready to end his life. He has lost the control of his own people for France itself. His king is dead, the Terror had struck. And for what? His boss was dead by order of the people of his revolution ((**A/N: Louis XVI**)). And yet another self proclaimed monarch comes along and every other country begins to attack him when he fell to his knees in Russia ((**A/N: Napoleon I**)).

" Pourquoi? Tamarah! What 'ave I done to you-"  
Tamarah took off her hat and threw it on the ground. She undid the buttons on her military coat. The coat dropped to the floor. France stared in horror as red scares and bruises became visible on Saint Domingue's arms. She wore a white shirt, the blood seeping through it as she heard the cries of more of her people fighting against the French.

"This... Papa Lafrans, is the treatment you casted on me. You may have housed me, taught me to read, to write, to speak, to feel. But you used your advantages as a powerful country and used me for your own needs. Imprisoned me with in a cage, not letting me out-"

"I 'ave never-!"

"Then explain what is happening before you, Papa Lafrans! My people were dying and all you cared about was making money, getting power...I may be young, but I know well enough that no human should ever be treated the way you treated my people!" Tamarah cried, tears rolling down her now blood stained cheeks.

France tried to move. He was able to finally stand, gathering the energy to face her. He watched her cry in front of him, the blood stains growing bigger and bigger. Pulling her self together, she wiped her eyes and put her tan military coat back on. She placed the matching hat on her head and glared at him, her eyes watching as he tried to stand straight against a tree. France took hold of his sword and put a hand on his chest. A final tear escaped his eyes and he met her steady gaze. Lifting the sword he pointed it at her.

"I...want independence from you," she said casting her own sword.

" Je ne le permets pas! (I won't allow it!)" France roared before charging at her with full force.  
He swung at her. The pain in his chest growing as they exchanged swings and blows. They were both trained in fencing. He had taught her how to fence when she was a little girl. How to hold a foil. How to strike. How to never give mercy. Her speed matched his, and each blow became heavier and heavier with the force of hate and sorrow. All France could do was block and wait for an opening. Soon it came, but she was able to block it swing, the two nations were face to face now. Their weapons the only thing between them, battling for dominance.

"Well, played, Papa Lafrans..." Tamarah struggled against his sword against her own trying to push him or find a way to swing.

France was ready for any thing she would throw at him. He glared down into her eyes. The older nation gained the confidence to go against his heart and try to control his corrupted creation. He grew angry as he looked into her eyes. But then, he lost his sense of feeling all over his body. A white light made him blink. Before him stood a toddler version of Saint Domingue, smiling up at him holding out her hand. France looked down, he was in his pirate clothing, the ones he wore when he first stepped onto the island with Spain. Smiling down at the girl, he took her hand.

Francis found himself on the floor, his chest burning. Looking up, Tamarah stood over him, her gun pointed at his head, her sword on her hip. Her native people encircled them, watching and cheering. Her chocolate skin was wet with blood and sweat. She spoke.

"You will leave once the sun is high in the sky. And you will never return, Papa Lafrans."  
The people around her cheered. Pocketing the gun, she turned to her people.

"Nou se gratis nan frè m 'pase a, m' ak sè! No longer ap mache nan franse sou tè nou an, ap pran nou pou yo akòde!( We are free at last, my brothers and sisters! No longer will the French walk on our land, taking us for granted!)"

Tamarah put her fist in the air and cheered along with her people. Turning back to France, she grabbed him by his collar and ordered one of her people to take him back to the hut, under watch. As Saint Domingue watch the sun raise over the trees, France sat in his room, his things packed, hand over his chest. He was trying to be a great father to her. If Hispaniola saw what he had done, he'd die of guilt. Hispaniola would cry and hit him. She'd curse him and have the her people torture him. There was nothing he could do to fix this.  
Absolutely nothing.

Révolution


	3. Mirror

Mirror

Antonio paced around his living room. He had left Santo Domingo by herself, thinking she would be okay with France there. But he recently got word from Britain that France was defeated and had returned home. That made him panic. Saint-Domingue had declared independence against France. Wait. According to France, Saint-Domingue renamed herself _Haiti._ So, _Haiti _took control over the whole island and is ruling his little sister and influenced Raquel to declare independence against France well. Not only that, Britain has stepped into the picture. The Englishman began to trade with Haiti when France refused to keep any contact with her. Antonio didn't really have any issue with this. It was the fact that Haiti agreed to trade with Arthur just to make Francis upset. They were both his allies, okay not really France after throwing his boss off the throne but still, no issues right? Wrong. Knowing the Brit, soon enough he'll try to take his colonies and Haiti right under his nose and rub it in his face.

No. He doubt that would happen. There was no way Haiti would allow the British wizard to take control of her land or new found government. There was absolutely no way.  
Hold. On. Britain being there may not be a bad thing. Soon Haiti might convince Santo Domingo to rebel against himself. With Britain there, he can make sure it doesn't happen. Grabbing his hat and red coat he ran out of his room and through the castle grounds. His boss was in the throne room. He slowed his pace as he burst through the grand doors. He plopped himself on his knee and bowed his head, panting. Spain's boss looked at him.

"¿Qué tú quieres (what do you want), Antonio?" He asked. Spain didn't dare to look up. His boss didn't know about Haiti talking over Raquel's side of the island. The king knew about France though.

"Perdón, su majestad pero...(excuse me your majesty, but...)"

"¿Qué? (what?)" Antonio's boss demanded.  
Antonio began to explain, in detail, the events that took place after France left. While he spoke, he could feel the frustration that his boss was giving off by his groans and sighs.

"What should we do,patrón? (Boss)" Antonio asked with his head still bowed.  
"Go to Santo Domingo. Stop this nonsense before anything else happens." His boss exclaimed.  
"Sí, patrón! (yes boss)" Antonio replied before running out of the throne room.

Arthur sat at the table with his tea cup. Sipping his tea, he watched as Spain's child wash the dishes. Ever since Spain left, the saddened look on her face never lifted. Haiti stayed in her room majority of the time. The new nation was weak and sick. If it wasn't for the Brit, she would've been gone. Arthur had no problem helping out. He was trading with the rest of Spain's children and America. Oh yes, America comes to visit him here sometimes and he became friends with Santo Domingo. They got along well even though Alfred was a bit younger than she was. But Spain had his Empire in America as well, it its close to crumbling down, so he had no worries.  
"Ah...Ahcoo!" Santo Domingo sneezed, drying her hands.  
"Bless you."  
"Gracias, Señor Inglaterra (thank-you, )" Raquel replied and put away the cleaned plates into the cabinets.  
This was normal. The house was normally silent. Raquel missed Spain so much. She wished that he'd come back and keep her company. Her father would be in the garden with the tomatoes, or playing soccer outside with her people. Or maybe even singing in the hallways before he would wake her up and they would make breakfast together. A small smile came to her face as she thought about her father. That pirate that came to her mother's island, gave her life, and took care of her after her mother flew into the sky like Britannia and Roman Empire so long ago. Arthur can relate to her. He felt alone even with his brothers and sisters. But he always had her around; Spain abandoned Santo Domingo, leaving her with France, and then all this mess starts because France couldn't control his own hormonal teenage daughter.  
"Have you thought about my offer?"  
Raquel turned to the sunny blonde. Her brown eyes became sharp. Of course she has, he reminded her nonstop.  
"Sí, I have Arthur..." She said bitterly.  
"Now, now, love. No need to get angry." Arthur stood and put a hand on her shoulder. He spun her around and lifted her chin so their eyes met. They were in some sort of relationship. It was one of those things that had no reason. They were living on the same island for the time being.  
"Now, what is your answer?" The sunny blonde whispered as the tip of his nose made contacted with her's.  
Raquel remained silent for a moment. Was she really ready for this? She has been ruled by someone since she was born. This nation promised her support. He promised her faith.  
He promised her freedom.  
"I..." Raquel's eyes became hard, "Sí."  
Arthur smiled and lightly pressed his lips against hers. Something felt weird to the young woman as she allowed him to kiss her. As he pulled a way, a smile spread across his face and his eyes flashed something unrecognizable. Britain pecked her cheek before leaving the room. Raquel looked at her feet. Haiti was going to be an easy win with Arthur. But she needed more than Arthur right now...She needed her father.

Spain reached land a few months later. He was desperate to see his daughter. Exiting his ship he noticed a man with bushy eyebrows looking at him. Antonio ran up to him and demanded that he'd see Raquel. Arthur nodded. On the way to the hut, questions were asked about the Brit's observations while living here. Haiti has become weak. It was up to Arthur to support France's daughter as well as Antonio's. As they approached the hut's doors, England looked at Antonio carefully.  
"Spain, there is an important matter to discuss regarding Raquel and Tamarah. I believe you take into consideration everything she says before you say anything."  
Spain nodded slowly and followed the Brit into the kitchen. Coffee and tea were set on the table, and Santo Domingo stood near the window. Arthur approached her. Putting his hands on her hips, he whispered into her ear. The brunette turned to her father and gestured for them to sit down. Arthur took an extra cup of tea and walked to Haiti's room, making sure the young girl wouldn't get out of bed.  
"¿Qué pasó, mi hija? You look upset." Antonio said quietly, watching as his daughter's face become dark and emotionless.  
"Is he treating you well? Do I need to talk to Brit-"  
"No, papá. He is very good to me. It's about...Haiti..." Santo Domingo said looking at her father.  
"What about her?"  
Raquel and Antonio became silent as they hear foot steps down the hall. Hearing Britain's voice, they relaxed, but didn't speak until the blonde joined them. Some of Haiti's workers past the kitchen. Each holding some farming tools while England barked at them to work.  
"Sorry about that. I wanted to make sure they were out of the house." Arthur said before sitting down next to Raquel, reaching for his tea cup.  
Antonio nodded and looked at his daughter. He repeated his question. Santo Domingo nodded and began explaining how hard its been dealing with her sister. Tamarah was weak. She was sick and never got out of her room or has had any interactions with others. It was mostly herself and Britain holding her up. And she was tired of it.  
"Yo veo (I see). Have you spoken to her?" Antonio asked.  
Raquel nodded. As did Arthur; But none of then could convince Haiti to try and support herself. But even if she's sick, she's been abusing Britain's kindness, and isn't very nice to Raquel either even when she does try to help.

"And what do you need to tell me?" Antonio looked from Arthur to his daughter.  
"We...I want Haiti out of my house. The hut France used to live in is on the other side of the island still. She can live there." Santo Domingo stated.  
Antonio nodded slowly... What did this have to do with him?  
"We want your help, Spain." England whispered.

Once night time fell, Raquel gave her younger sister a special tea to help her sleep soundly. Her people locked all the doors where the Haitians where sleeping and She ran to the center of the island, their birthplace. The British were building a stone walk separating them. Britain gave her a hug and kissed her, in promise that this will end well. Santo Domingo nodded and waited by the wall.  
Arthur and Antonio crept into Tamarah's room. While keeping watch for any intruders, the Brit led Spain, who was holding Haiti in his arms, around Santo Domingo's hut, to the wall. They soon met up with the young Spaniard, and snuck into the enclosed and secured area that France incest lived. Raquel was pleased when she saw the bodies, some dead-some unconscious, of Haiti's security. Spain and England slowly made their way to the closes room and laid Tamarah in bed. Spain said a small prayer before escaping with the others. As they went through the unfinished part of the wall,where the two girls were born, Raquel turned back to take one last look at the land her and her sister once shared. Where they grew up with their fathers. Where their mother flew into the sky, leaving them behind. She herself spoke a soft prayer before taking Arthur's hand and running back to her house with the two men.

Spain spent the night in his old room while Britain shared a bed with Santo Domingo. To try and take her mind off of what just took place, Arthur got her into the mood, made love to her, and held her close. Raquel couldn't sleep. Even if she made love with the Brit, her mind was thinking about Tamarah. They hadn't killed many people...and her nurses and maids were still alive. So she would be fine, right?  
"Still not tired, love?" Arthur asked caressing her cheek.  
The brunette shook her head. Arthur gave a soft smile. She was still young and not used to having a victory. He doubt she even knew the meaning of the word independence. Britain smirked. Soon he'll convince her to declare independence from Spain himself, with America's help of course.  
"Please don't worry about it. I can see its been pecking at your head. But I'm here and your father is as well. She'll be alright." The sunny blonde wrapped his arms around her bare torso.  
"Now, get some rest. You need it, love."

Mirror


End file.
